gimme that hummingbird heartbeat
by comebackdean
Summary: it's the way she says it with such conviction, almost threatening, "oh, and ambrose, don't call me princess," that he wonders if he can crack her, if he can actually make her – wwe's golden girl – bend to his charm


_a/n: don't ask me where this pair came from, i just thought about them and i couldn't let it go, so here we are. dashinginconverse gets so much credit for this existing because i pm'd her about the plot bunny, and now she's obsessed with them too. star wars v: the empire strikes back and the quote, which inspired by brain to put these two together, belong to george lucas and most definitely not me._

* * *

 **~*~gimme that hummingbird heartbeat~*~**

" _ **you like me because i'm a scoundrel and there aren't enough scoundrels in your world"**_

 _ **han solo to princess leia, star wars v: the empire strikes back -**_

* * *

The impact of her lithe but toned figure doesn't register. It's the smell of vanilla and orange, sweet and tart, that makes him look down. A crown of platinum captures the steel of his vision, and he briefly indulges the idea of bowing theatrically and putting on a horrible British accent, playing to _her_ royal lineage. Or would it be more fun to jostle her backwards, making her fall on that golden girl ass of hers and show her that _here_ – where the big boys and girls play – her name don't mean shit?

Instead, it's a scowl and a warning, "Watch where you're goin' Princess. Ain't no red carpets rolled out for you around here."

He's gone, disappearing down the length of the hallway, before he sees those brown eyes flash dangerously and narrow; smooth jaw ticking subtly.

 **X**

Pushing her way through the curtain, she hears the gritty tone from earlier, " _High stylin' and proflin'_ , huh?"

There's an obvious sneer and when she whirls around to her left, hackles ready to rise and dig in, she balks at the figure he cuts. He's leaning against the wall, lazily biting from a greasy sandwich, his hair is matted to his forehead with sweat and the black tank top he wore to the ring is hanging off one shoulder.

Steel meets the honey brown of her eyes and there's another dig, drawled lazily, "So much for getting out of Daddy's Shadow."

There's a retort on the tip of her tongue, ready to be unleashed like the thrashing of a whip when he says, tossing the wrapper into a nearby trashcan, "Tomorrow you're showin' up in a feather boa and a robe, right?"

It takes _everything_ not to lunge for him, but he's gone before she can make a move; swaggering away with rolling shoulders and an audacious wink in her direction, which makes her mouth drop in shock.

 **X**

"Wooooooo!" Head thrown back, dishwater fringe falling in front of steel, and this is it... _This_ is the time, she _actually_ punches him. This is when she shows him, she's _more_ than just Ric Flair's daughter, but when she turns to confront him and push her fist into the chiseled cut of his jaw, she's met with the view of his retreating back.

And no, she's _not_ thinking of how the grey cotton stretches tight – _too_ tight – over the tempting muscles of his broad back.

 **X**

"Well," Seriously?! Is _he_ everywhere?! "That's not very ladylike, beating up innocent vending machines. And here I thought Mumsy and Daddy Flair would raise their precious princess with manners and shit. Also, don't you have lackeys like Frodo and Bilbo of your own to do mundane peasant things like late night hotel food runs?"

"Do you _want_ something?" Ground through gritted teeth.

"It's the Twix you were after right?" Brushing past and electricity sizzles in her veins from the brief contact.

The next thing she knows, he's pounded his fist on the glass of the machine and the candy bar drops, to her amazement. He bends to retrieve it from the slot, and she definitely _doesn't_ steal a brief glance at the ass the girls in the locker room can't stop giggling over. Because she isn't one of them. Swooning and getting caught up in his charm and the aura of the illusive bad boy with the leather jacket and ripped up jeans.

"Eyes up, Princess," Along with a smooth chuckle draw her out, but she won't take the bait, instead she reaches for the candy bar in his hand, which he quickly snatches away. "I don't think so," Raised above his head and dangling by the tips of his fingers, purposefully out of her reach, even though she played volleyball in high school. "Not until," Taunting and infuriating. "You say the magic word."

"Fuck you, Ambrose." Nothing less than a deadly growl and he feigns being aghast, other hand clutching tight to his chest, and of course her eyes are drawn in the direction of that hand, suddenly all too aware that in her line of sight is nothing but skin.

Her skin prickles with arousal and she hates herself because she should be above _this_ , the pure womanly excitement that rolls through her from the miles of warmly tanned muscle on display. The low, throaty chuckle that comes next isn't helping; the defined muscles of his chest vibrating with the sound.

Jumping, she growls in frustration as he jerks the candy bar higher and again there's the taunting, "Magic word first, Princess. Then candy."

Her control snaps and she shoves him hard, pushing him against the wall with a thud while a grunt leaves his lips, and then she bends grabbing the candy that fell from his grasp. She doesn't spare him another glance even as he yells, "You're welcome!"

 **X**

Whatever retort or dig dies on his tongue because all his brain can register is _legs, legs, legs, legs_. And did he mention, _legs_? _Fuuuuuuuuuuck_ he groans inwardly and his throat goes dry because there's nothing but miles – literally – of smooth skin, the scrap of fabric that covers everything else – barely – hits mid thigh, and there's a shiver he sees roll through her toned frame.

A shiver that mirrors the one that just rolled through her own body goes through his. Lust blooming in the pit of his stomach. They're vivid – the images – taking over his brain. Her on her back. Platinum a halo of curls around her head, like, a crown. Fitting for the Princess. Vanilla and orange from the first time tickling his nose but deeper and with the obvious heady scent of arousal.

"Lock yourself out?" When he got close enough to slid a credit card between them, he doesn't know, but he's right _there_.

"Paige and Becky," Jaw ticking in anger. "Thought it would be funny to steal my key and leave me out here in my pajamas. Stupid brats!" She yells and when her arms raise to pound on the door, the scrap of fabric – an off the shoulder cotton shirt thing – raises – which gives him a brief glance at her ass. He knows that cheek – even from just a peek – would fit perfectly into the heft of his palm and what he wouldn't give to test that theory, to just reach and feel, but she _does_ have a mean right hook and he'd like to keep his teeth in his mouth.

But maybe... He doesn't risk it, instead he reaches for a bobby pin he spots in the curls that are pinned to her head. He holds his hands up in peace when she whirls and fixes him with a glare. "Just doin' my good deed for the year, Princess."

And then he jiggles the lock, which turns to the right, and he opens the door. "Don't rush to thank me or anything." He murmurs as she steps through the door without sparing him a glance.

"Thanks." So soft he barely heard it, and her face softens, just briefly before he taunts, "I know _how_ you could thank me..." And there's a hard punch to his shoulder, making him wince for show before the door slams in his face, but he won't forget that softness.

 **X**

"Wooooooooo!" Charlotte cheers as she bursts through the curtain after her impressive 'Beat The Clock' match against Brie. The other Bella didn't put up much of a fight and Paige wasn't going to roll over in her match against Sasha, but the blonde couldn't shake the feeling that she had sealed her fate as the No. 1 Contender for the Diva's Championship.

"Woooooooo!" An answer to her own cheer bounces to her hears and she fights the urge to roll her eyes. She isn't surprised to see Ambrose swaggering in her direction. There's that electricity – only he can inspire – crackling under her skin, just the sight of his lips curling into _that_ [damn] smirk, makes her want to punch him and someday she thinks she actually might.

"Did Auntie Steph and Uncle Trips make Flower Moon Child take that dive?" And, yes, toady _is_ going to be the day she punches him. "Whoa, now..." A smooth chuckle, his own hand blocking her punch. "Don't go for the money maker," He motions to his face and she wants to let out a bark of laughter and mock, but he continues. "I'm a movie star, remember, Princess?"

There won't be a blush on her cheeks, she refuses to allow one to creep in, because _yes_ she's all too aware of his movie star status. She won't say so out loud, he would _never_ let her live it down if she did, but it's all too vivid in her mind's eye; that evergreen Henley stretched obscenely over smooth muscle, which bulks wonderfully under the fabric. The jeans that hugged the firm globes of his ass. How he looked in the yellow Camaro, flashing the badge at the cocky kid. His gritty voice in her ear, "Eight rounds. Six bad guys. Love those odds."

But he'll never know about any of that.

She reaches out, fingertips brushing against the cotton of the black tank top, clinging to the defined muscles of his chest. Her voice is purposefully low, drawing him in, and with such conviction – it's almost threatening – she tells him, "Don't call me Princess. It's Charlotte."

She's daring him to correct her, honey brown eyes narrowed dangerously, and he doesn't say anything. With a flip of platinum curls over a perfectly tanned shoulder, she's gone. And he's staring at her retreating back, enjoying the sway of her alluring hips, and just smiles, thinking can he crack her? Can he make WWE's golden girl bend to his charm? The charm he's cultivated and perfected over the years that has gotten countless women – some in these very halls – to drop their panties without a thought.

Princess won't bend easy, that he knows, and she won't be playing hard to get because she _is_ hard to get.

And he's never backed down from a challenge.

 **X**

"I could have you arrested for stalking," There's no venom in her tone, not even a trace of annoyance, and Dean smirks in triumph. He knows he hasn't broken her yet, that she won't let him anywhere near panties [yet], but at least she doesn't look like she'll punch him in the face. Progress, he thinks, smirk growing wider.

"I'm just enjoying the view," Briefly his sky blue eyes drift to her breasts, sitting perfectly, in the cups of her sports bra before motioning to the mountain landscape around him. "It reminds me of Red Rock out in Vegas. Nothin' but miles of dirt and mountains. Don't get better than this, Princess."

"Charlotte." She grinds through gritted teeth before sprinting forward.

"I like Princess better." He's right there, matching her stride for stride. "Suits you," And she might be imagining it, but the smirk is gone, leaving a genuine smile on criminally kissable lips. "All that blonde hair," He reaches, capturing a loose curl from her ponytail. "The little jewels," A finger traces the absent design that's there before every match. "Your," A bop. "Upturned nose."

"I'm nobody's princess." A swat of his hand and he chuckles. "Tell that to your Daddy. Bet he's told ya, you're royalty since your first breath, Miss Genetically Superior."

"Being genetically superior doesn't make me a princess."

"Whatever you say, Baby Flair."

"Don't call me _that_ either!"

 **X**

 _This is what you were born for, Charlotte. To be the best of the best. To stand alone atop the Diva's Division as its Champion. You won the Beat The Clock Challenge. Not Becky. Not Paige. **You**. And you have the chance to walk out of Night of Champions as the Diva's Champion. It's time to start thinking about your future in this business and who you align yourself with can make you or break you._

Stephanie's throaty voice won't leave her alone. After beating the clock and post Ambrose encounter, she had been cornered by the Billionaire Princess. Those ice blue eyes cold and calculating. Her mauve painted lips dripping with the promise of _everything_.

One little seed planted.

And, briefly, Charlotte wonders if this is how Stephanie got to Nikki before Summerslam last year? Or if this is what Hunter did to Seth before Payback? Taunted and promised. Dangled everything in the palm of their hands. The fame. The fortune. The power. The prestige. Championship gold.

"You really wanna make your own way around here? Make people forget who your Daddy is?" Gritty and persistent, and she sighs heavily, fingers threading through her platinum waves. "Ambrose..." Exasperated, but he presses on. "Don't get into bed with the Vin-cess and Hunter. Goin' your own way got you a match for the title. You don't need them. Besides, you seem like the type who wants to win their matches clean. When was the last time Rollins had a clean victory, huh? He's got two titles but how'd he get 'em?"

"Why do you care if Hunter and Stephanie are trying to bring me into The Authority?"

"What you do is your business. I'm just givin' a little advice; veteran to rookie. NXT was Hunter's baby, but up here," He shakes his head. "He's got Daddy breathin' down his neck, and if he don't succeed, Vince'll blow his stack and then what? He got no chance at takin' over when that old coot finally croaks."

"That Championship is _everything_. It's my destiny. Stephanie said it herself; I was born and bred for this business. And my Dad was never aligned with anyone but the best..."

"Rollins is a weasel and all they got is him in their stable now. Kane's off sacrificing small woodland creatures in Hawaii somewhere. J & J are in the shire doin' hobbit shit or whatever. And their chosen diva? Tits McGee couldn't hack it for more than three seconds. She's runnin' around with that title cause Flower Moon Child's a fucking sap who couldn't handle getting stabbed in the back. Not cause Steph and Hunter put it on her like they put the Championship on Rollins."

"I can handle myself, thanks."

"Never said you couldn't." A twinkle in cornflower eyes, an appreciative smirk crossing kissable lips. "Like I said, I'm just givin' a little advice; veteran to rookie. I meant when I said what you do is your business. Ain't no skin off my nose if you join up and have a Championship fall into your lap."

 **X**

Everything was falling apart; one moment [literally] she had been so high, pinning Nikki to stop her from breaking AJ's record as the longest reigning Diva's Champion, and then there was Brie, pulling tissues from her bra; white – stark and bright, blinding, really – covering the floor of the arena.

It couldn't be... It just... She had been handed the title. The referee raised her hand. There was Michael Cole's voice ringing in her ear.

 _Charlotte's done it! She's done it, JBL and Byron! She stopped Nikki Bella from becoming the longest reigning Diva's Champion!_

Then there was Lillian Garcia... _Your winner and new Diva's Champion... CHARLOTTE!_

Paige and Becky were by her side, heads thrown back and cheers of "wooooooooo" along with the familiar tone of her father's raspy voice, "That's my girl!" as he pulled her in for a bone crushing hug. She wept openly, not caring that she was in an arena full of people, not caring her hardened facade` was slipping.

"No... No... No..." She repeated, shaking her head the cacophony of boos reigning down from the fans as they realized she had been a victim of 'Twin Magic.' That it wasn't Nikki she pinned but Brie. Horror slipped into her brains as the realization caught up to her. From down below there was a triumphant flip of golden highlighted hair, not the natural dark that she had curled around her fists. Blood red lips blooming into a smirk. Bottomless chocolate orbs mocking just as... _I'll never gonna be the linoleum... Now welcome to the queendom... Queendom with the king bow wow..._ burst through the arena's speakers.

"Charlotte, Ric..." Contrite but not sincere, Charlotte could see right through Stephanie as the Billionaire Princess strutted to the top of the ramp. "I am so sorry... The second," Lips briefly tilting into a sneer. "Brie put her hands on you, Nikki should have been disqualified. But as you know the title can only change hands by pinfall or submission. So..." A heavy sigh and a slow shake of her head. "the winner of the match is Charlotte, but your Diva's Champion is still Nikki Bella."

"There's gonna be a Bella-bration!" JBL shouting from behind her and then title is taken from her hands by the referee. Nikki is lifted onto Alicia and Brie's shoulders. They parade her around the ring before bringing her onto the ramp where she holds the title high above her head. Stephanie is right there, not even attempting at hiding what Charlotte knows is the truth.

The 'L' for loser doesn't register with Charlotte; only the stare of glacial blue eyes.

 **X**

Charlotte isn't surprised that Reigns arches an eyebrow after he opens the door to his and Dean's hotel room and finds her standing there. She knows they have their hands full with Wyatt and his 'family,' but if anyone can help her get the upper hand against Stephanie it – sadly – isn't Paige and Becky; it's him.

"Ambrose around?" Nonchalant, like she comes around asking for him every night.

"Since when do you go around askin' for Dean?" Large arms crossing over an impressive chest, the bulk of his frame easily filling the doorway, and it's hard not to shudder from the presence Roman Reigns creates.

"Look, Reigns..." Eyes narrowing because she doesn't have time for the over-protective big brother routine and then she hears from inside the room, "Princess?," and though she hates that he calls her that, she still pushes past the large Samoan and stumbles – it's like trying to get past a brick wall – into the room. There's that pure womanly heat flooding to the pit of her stomach because he's shirtless with basketball shorts slung low, revealing tantalizing hip dents, and now really isn't the time for this, but fuck.

"I turned Stephanie down," Everything flooding out, her mouth going too fast for her brain to keep up. "I told her I wanted to win the Championship on my own. I said I wasn't weak like Rollins and Nikki, that I was strong and I could beat Nikki without any help from anyone. I said not to come around, to slink back to her corner office or limo. I said go play wifey with Hunter. That I didn't need them. That I was Charlotte Elizabeth Flair."

"You'll get your shot at Tits McGee at Night of Champions. Anything goes, right?" Arm raises to rub at the back of his neck, tempting muscles bulking and flexing under smooth skin, and _down girl_. "She can lose by disqualification, count out, pinfall and submission. Meaning even if she's dumb enough to try that lame-ass 'Twin Magic' bullshit, you still walk out as Champ..."

"Yeah, till freaking, I don't know Taylor Swift or Ariana Grande or somebody hits me in the back with a chair."

"Who the fuck are they?"

Charlotte doesn't know how – maybe it's the completely lost look on Dean's face – or the actual seriousness in his tone, like, he thinks they will show up in Houston, it's probably the combination of both, but she laughs. Her head thrown back and her body vibrating with pure, easy laughter. She knows he didn't do it on purpose. That he genuinely doesn't know who they are, but she still murmurs, staring deep into cornflower eyes, "I needed that."

Dimples that are far too attractive for her own good crater into round cheeks. He looks almost innocent and in her mind's eye, she can see a little boy; shaggy hair falling into cornflower eyes, dimples standing out and rambling about watching her Dad and Dusty. Her heart flutters [ugh] from the feeling of a calloused fingers lifting her chin and he says, "That stupid butterfly belt gonna have your name on it come Sunday. Then you'll see what I was warnin' you about on Monday when The Billionaire Bitch feeds Tits McGee and her cronies to the wolves when you win."

"Stephanie..."

"She won't give up. She'll just start whisperin' in Banks' ear. Maybe even Nae's. But knowin' Uce? Jimmy would shut that down quick. Banks'll go rogue. She got Rollins written all over her. Too cocky for her own good. Too caught up in glory to realize the price you gotta pay to have The Vin-cess pullin' your strings."

"And what price _is_ that?"

"Never actually winning on your own. Never having the satisfaction of climbing to the top of the mountain and knowin' it was all because of you. Your blood, your sweat, your tears and shit. If Rollins don't walk out with both titles on Sunday, his Mommy and Daddy gonna drop him like a bad habit. If Rome and I don't come through, he's gonna say we'll get 'em next time and the next time, he'll be fightin' those bearded swamp freaks with me. Just like I ain't gonna walk away from him. Wyatt Rome where it hurts; his family and his family is my family."

Charlotte felt a shudder rush through her. She swallowed; overwhelmed by Dean's intensity in this moment and how attractive it made him. She never thought herself one of _those_ girls. The ones that swooned and dropped their panties just from the sound of his gritty voice or how his cornflower eyes clouded over, darkening and swirling like a storm on the horizon. The ones that were putty in his hands with just a smirk sent their way.

And maybe she wasn't exactly putty or dropping her panties anytime soon, but she could feel her resolve breaking. Standing here, in his hotel room, no space between them; the entire expanse of his defined chest, sculpted abs and thickly muscled arms on display, she felt no trace of annoyance or aggravation towards him, only heat simmered in her veins, anger and irritation left behind.

"You and Reigns get your third and on Monday, we're putting Stephanie and Hunter on notice."

" _We're_?" There goes that infuriating smirk, which makes her roll her eyes, but [secretly] her heart lifts and she punches him in the shoulder. "Yeah, _we're_ , dumbass. Like I said, you and Reigns get your third and on Monday, we're putting Stephanie and Hunter on notice. Sting and Cena might not survive at Night of Champions, so they'll think they're running the place – no threats on the horizon – until..."

"I like the way you think, Princess."

"Charlotte..." She exaggerates the pronunciation of her name. "Now, you say it."

"Princess..." And, yeah, he still makes her want to punch him in the face.

 **X**

"Charlotte Flair?" Roman arches a brow after the statuesque blonde takes her leave. "Since when have you said more than two words to her?"

"Since she bumped into me backstage a couple months back. It's been fun, needling her, getting under skin with all that Princess and Baby Flair shit. Needed to have some fun," Dean flops back onto the bed, stretching his long legs. "With all the shit that's goin' down with Bray and his twisted swamp monsters, y'know. It's easy..." He laughs, remembering the fiery glares the young Flair would send his way. How her jaw would tick. How she looked ready to sock him. "Getting under her skin. She gives it back, though. She's a tough one to crack..."

"Dean..." Warning in Roman's tone, smooth muscles of his chiseled jaw grinding.

"Cool your jets, man." Drawled lazily as Dean peers at the big man through his fringe . "I haven't even come close to getting in her panties... _yet._ Those legs for days would look hot as fuck around my waist or over my shoulders. Just like that ass would be worthy of a frame as my dick slides between those cheeks, but that ain't all this is about. I'm not some skeeze jerking off to her picture every night. She's more than another notch."

"She better be."

"Or..."

"No woman deserves to be just a notch in some douche's bedpost, man. I know, deep down, you believe that. You wouldn't have let Renee down easy if you didn't. Just like you wouldn't warn JoJo about boys."

"Charlotte's already got Ginger Shamrock and Elvira in her corner; now's the time to make your move, dude."

Roman thought about commenting on Dean's not so subtle subject change, but let it fall to the way side. Climbing into the adjacent bed, he glared at the other man saying, "Quit getting in my face about Paige. When I'm ready to make my move, I'll make it."

The Cincinnati native grumbled, "At the rate you're going some douche will have proposed to her, when you finally grow some fucking balls and tell her you want a thousand of her pale-ass babies. Jesus fucking Christ."

A pillow hit him square in the head and he promptly through it back, hitting the other square in the back. A pillow fight raged until they called a truce. But, of course, Dean couldn't resist pummeling Roman one more time, making the big man glower and threaten, "If you don't fucking stop this shit, I'm gonna throw you through one of these walls."

"Love you, too, Romeo." And another pillow thrown his way, this one hitting him in the face.

"Damn it, Dean!"

 **X**

"Looks good, Princess." Charlotte felt ridiculous as she felt her cheeks heat up under Dean's cornflower gaze.

The title, which she won after Nikki couldn't escape her finisher – Charlotte's Web – was slung over her shoulder and gleaming, perfectly offset by her golden skin and the sparkling tan of her gear. The heat from Dean's stare had her veins crackling with electricity. His eyes roaming over her every inch and not bothering to disguise the lust inside.

"Didn't expect you and Reigns to grab Balor`," She changes the subject, far too caught up, in how that smoky gaze of Dean's is making her feel all of the lust that's reflected in his stare. "Figured you'd go for Jimmy since Jey's still out. Or maybe Samoa Joe."

"We didn't exactly expect that he'd jump at the chance to bash on the swamp monsters either, but if you're gonna fight some monsters why not have a demon in your corner?"

"Becky's bouncing off the walls about him being here. She might," A low burst of laughter. "Be _more_ amped than usual, if you can believe it. I..." Her eyes drift to her boots, rocking back and forth on her heels for a moment. Then honey brown meets steel. "I hope I know what I'm doing. Challenging Stephanie and Hunter. Bringing all of you into my fight because she couldn't handle my rejection."

"This ain't all about you, Princess. I hate to break it to ya." It's surprisingly gentle, the stroking of his fingers against her temple, tracing the bejeweled design. "This – what we're doin' tonight – is the _revolution._ And you didn't bring us into this, every one of us was already in it."

"I let my Dad down once... When I was fooled by _Twin Magic_ and I can't let him down again. I can't..." A swipe of a hand across her face, determined not to let tears fall. "I _won't_."

"You ain't gotta worry about letting Ric down. We're goin' out there and doin' what we all do. Kick ass and take names. This ain't Cena at Survivor's Series last year. This is gonna be a war, and they ain't goin' quietly cause of some match stipulation Vinnie Mac pulled out of his ass."

"Stephanie can bring it on."

"Damn straight she can." Identical brogues as Becky and Finn step into Charlotte's locker room. "We're going to show her and Hunter both, they can't pick and choose their Champions. Championships have to be earned." Paige spoke next, Roman by her side, who nodded in agreement. "Things are gonna change around here, and we'll be the catalyst for it. Everybody that's in this room."

Becky and Finn walked out first, then Paige and Roman, which left Charlotte and Dean inside the locker room. He stared into her honey brown eyes, watching as they slowly grew darker; turning mahogany with determination. He felt his lips curl at he sight. He knew she was ready.

"Wooooooooooo!" Head thrown back, platinum like a waterfall down her toned back.

"Wooooooooooo!" He let one out himself and then they were gone, joining the other four at the backstage entrance, ready to send a shot over the proverbial bow that would rock the WWE Universe.

 **X**

"I know all of you expect me to stand here and call out Nikki Bella. To mock her pathetic title defense at Night of Champions, to belittle her status as Longest-Reigning Diva's Champion," Charlotte spoke, butterfly gleaming on her shoulder as she strutted around the ring, Paige and Becky, standing guard outside the ring; ready if Team Bella or Team BAD should decide to attack. "But Nikki Bella is in the past. Nikki Bella isn't even on my radar. I disposed of her, fair and square, when I made her tap to Charlotte's Web at Night of Champions, and now she is nothing but a speck of dust in my rear view mirror. Now... Now..." A slow blooming smirk across painted lips. "I have my sights set on something... on _someone_ much bigger than Nikki Bella."

Commentary speculates about who Charlotte could be talking about, muttering in confusion behind her while JBL squawked about no one being bigger than Nikki.

Determined mahogany eyes gleam as she says, "I have my sights set on Stephanie McMahon. Stephanie, come out here, right now. You and I have some things to discuss. Namely... Your failed recruitment of me and how I told you to shove your offer of joining The Authority up your ass!"

Satisfied that there would be no ambush, Paige and Becky joined their teammate in the ring. Becky grabbing the mic from Charlotte first. "Come out, come out wherever you are, Steffy! We just wanna talk... Talk about how the time for chosen Champions is over."

Paige took the mic next. "We know you're back there, Vin-cess. We know you're watching in your power suit, and any second you'll send Team Bella to ambush us, and you know what we have to say? Bring it on! Bring Team BAD while you're at it! Bring the Diva's locker room out here! It doesn't matter because PCB will be the last one's standing, and you'll realize your days of whispering in the ears of the roster are over."

Backstage, Stephanie was seething. She couldn't believe what was happening. How Paige, Charlotte and Becky thought they could defy her like this. Mostly she was angered at Charlotte. How dare that little snot-nosed brat reveal the failed recruitment in front of the entire world.

The ambush from Team Bella and Team BAD was predictable. But what no one expected was to hear the familiar sound of a motorcycle revving. Dean's theme was playing. Then came the booming sound of a guitar and drums. But where Roman was coming from no one knew. After it was a steady bass. Alerting the crowd a demon was in their midst.

After the girls chased away Team Bella and Team BAD, Dean, Roman and Finn climbed into the ring. Calling out Hunter like the girls had called out Stephanie.

"Hunter... Hunter..." Dean sang tauntingly, beckoning the decorated wrestler to come to the ring with a come-hither motion of his hand. "I know your boy Rollins escaped last night with his titles in hand, but how many more times can he escape? How many more times can he win by just the skin of his teeth? By getting help from a dead man hell bent on revenge. Or a talk show host. Or a former demon. When was the last time he had a clean victory? Help me out here, Ro... Y'know my head gets a little scrambled and all..."

"The clean sweep we put on Evolution at Payback." Roman has the mic now. "I still haven't made good on my promise about comin' for you Hunter. Maybe you forgot about it, but I haven't." His knuckles crack and he powers up, like he'll launch into a Superman punch. "You got to Rollins and you're groomin' Owens to take over when that scum you call a Champion cracks, but that's all you got. So c'mon, Hunter, bring your golden boys out here; after takin' out swamp trash, Dean, Finn and I want to turn gold into rust... don't we?"

"I took the NXT Championship from Kevin Owens and I have no plans on relinquishing it. I won my Championship the way any self-respecting Champion would, with no help from anyone. Rollins didn't earn those championships. He might as well have stolen them. It is time," Finn held up the NXT Championship. "For a true Champion to step forward, not a hand-picked lackey who is nothing more than a puppet on a string; being played like a marionette by our boss. Stop me, Hunter, if I've got it wrong."

 **X**

It's chaos... Hunter could only take so much and with a roar of anger, he sent Seth, Kevin and Big Show out to the ring. They were followed, quickly, by the entire roster itself; minus, Cena, Ryback and Orton. Somehow, Dean, Roman and Finn were left standing. Each paid a significant price and come Smackdown, they would not be in fighting shape, but the message had been sent. The Authority was put on notice. No more chosen Champions. No more pulling the strings behind the scenes. No more lording over WWE and ruling with two iron fists.

"I ain't gonna die," Dean grumbles, cracking one eye open as Charlotte watches over him while in the trainer's office. Big Show had choke slammed him into a row of steel chairs that had ended up in the ring. Her blood ran cold as she remembered hearing the loud thwack his head made against the steel. How he hadn't moved for almost five seconds, how her heart had been lodged in her throat.

"You better not... You just managed to not be annoying, so you can't go dying on me now." A weak attempt at laughter as she bats away tears threatening to fall.

"Don't you know, Princess? Twinkies, cockroaches and Dean Ambroses... the three things that are gonna survive the fucking apocalypse."

"I could totally survive the apocalypse, too, you know."

"Fuck..." He groans, throaty and lustful, steel eyes flashing with heat. "You'd look so fucking hot like Beth from The Walking Dead. 'Cept you wouldn't be the damsel in distress waitin' for Darrell to save you. You'd be fucking Buffy the Zombie Slayer and shit. Damn..."

"Don't..." Leaning over, tone deadly and leaving no room for argument. "Scare me like that again. I may not be ready to drop my panties because you're smiling at me, but I don't want to punch you in the face 90% of the time any more. I... Fuck... This was never supposed to happen, succumbing to your charm or whatever..."

"I knew you couldn't resist me, Princess."

"Don't get cocky, Ambrose, I can still walk out of here without kissing you."

"But you won't."

"How do you know?"

There's no retort, only hot and intense lips pressing against her own. It's not fucking fair, how just one glide of his lips against hers, and she's practically [ugh] melting, but she is. Her mouth falls open [easily] for his tongue, inviting his for a heated dance. A purely wanton moan escapes and she wants to punch herself. His lips curl, smirking, and she knows he heard it, which makes her want to punch him.

They're foreheads are rested against each other, breathing heavy and maybe he hasn't totally cracked her yet, but he's well on the way.


End file.
